The Groomsman
by potionseagle
Summary: Hermione is suspicious of one of the groomsmen in Ginny's wedding. And she's determined to find out what he's hiding. Hermione/Tom.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've been having a problem with line breaks lately, so a slash will indicate a scene break. Enjoy!

/

"Who is that?" Hermione half-shouted, half-whispered to Ginny. Luna was hosting a bridal shower for Ginny, but it was one of those modern ones that were coed.

"That's one of the groomsmen. Actually, the one you're going to be walking down the aisle with."

"I've never seen him before."

"I think he went to Durmstrang, but him and Draco work together and Draco doesn't really have that many friends."

"What's his name?"

"Demetri Vole."

"Vole?"

Ginny shrugged. "What do you want, a background check?"

"That would be nice, yes. I think it's odd you're fine with having a stranger at your wedding."

"Hermione, you're paranoid. Between you and Harry… let's just say I'm glad he isn't in the wedding." Things had crashed and burned between Harry and Ginny shortly after the war. Harry pushed Ginny away instead of allowing her to help him deal with the stress; Hermione knew the feeling. Despite having been through nearly everything together, she couldn't help but push Ron away.

"I'm just being careful."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Go interrogate him yourself, then."

"I will."

"I'm sure you will."

Hermione walked up to the suspicious character on the opposite side of the room and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and she had to swallow a small gasp. He was much more attractive than she was expecting, having only seen the back of his head. His dark hair was so straight and slicked back that it looked a bit greasy from the back, but from the front it was rather attractive. He was pale enough that she could make out a greenish vein in his forehead. It was one of those things that could be very unattractive or strangely appealing. On him, it was the latter. His lips were rather dark and his eyes an unnatural green that looked like a glassy pool. She had never seen eyes with no flecks in them before.

"Hermione Granger, I presume?"

"Yes, hello," Hermione introduced herself, holding out her hand. He gripped it firmly and they both held on for a second too long. "I take it you're one of the groomsmen."

"That's correct. I believe we'll be walking down the aisle together." He smiled in a manner that seemed slightly off.

"So I've heard. How do you know the groom?"

"We work at the Ministry together. He's been wonderful, showing me the ropes and all that. Britain is still a new place for me, after all."

"But you don't have much of an accent."

Now his smile was downright threatening. "I've moved around a lot."

"Hmm."

"You work at the Ministry as well, don't you?"

"Yes," Hermione responded briskly. "How did you know that?"

"Well, you are the famous Hermione Granger after all." He lifted his hand past her to grab his drink from the bar, brushing her bare shoulder in a way that seemed accidental, but she didn't think it was. "War heroine. I've heard that if it weren't for you, Voldemort would still be around."

"It's funny you say his name; most people don't dare."

"As I said, I'm not from here."

"You know an awful lot for someone who's not from here."

"I like to know my history."

"As you said, though, it's not really _your_ history if you're not from here."

Demetri's eyes roamed over her in a way that made her feel much less clothed than she was. "Even though I just moved here, I like to think of Britain as my own."

/

"So, tell me more about Durmstrang," Hermione insisted. She knew quite a bit about the school from her short dalliance with Viktor Krum, and was hoping to catch the irritating man next to her in a lie. It was the most exciting prospect for the evening considering that Ginny had thought it was an excellent idea to shove her at the end of the table at the rehearsal dinner with only Demetri or Ron to talk to. The choice was easy.

"You don't care about Durmstrang. You find me suspicious."

"And you're changing the subject," Hermione declared triumphantly.

"I would like to know what I have done to incur your mistrust, Hermione. I should like to remedy it presently."

"You come out of nowhere and manage to weasel your way into this wedding," Hermione replied, looking at her plate to avoid the foreigner's aggressive eye contact.

"Merlin, 'Mione, I did not _weasel_ my way in. Mum wanted us here. I can't believe you would use that word."

Hermione sighed and looked up, catching Demetri's eye out of the corner of her own. He was silently laughing to himself. "Ron, I wasn't talk to you."

"I'm not an idiot, Hermione. I think I can tell when you're talking to me."

"Ron—"

"I know it must be hard for you to see me in this setting, but Lavender isn't replacing you. She's just different." Hermione groaned.

"Ron, I'm not upset with you about that. I'm not upset with you at all, actually."

"Hermione, it's okay to be sad."

"You're right, Ron."

"I am?" He sounded shocked.

"This is really hurtful for me to see you in this context. Why don't you move your chair to the other end of the table? I'm sure Ginny will understand."

"The table is really long, Hermione—"

"Ron, use magic.

"Hey, that's my line," Ron joked before thankfully moving. Demetri was still looking much too pleased with himself.

"And what do you look so happy about?" Hermione demanded of her remaining neighbor.

"This is a really lovely dinner so far. Kale with water is my favorite combination."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. Ginny had been on a bit of a health kick lately, and to everyone's disappointment, it had bled into the wedding.

"Do you think you're going to escape from the questions I have for you that easily?" Hermione asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

"I didn't hear a question, merely accusations. Perhaps I missed something?" Demetri asked in a light tone.

"Apologies. I've been a bit rude, haven't I?" Hermione wasn't sorry; something in her gut felt wrong, and she had learned a long time ago to trust that feeling. In truth, the irritating ex-boyfriend across the table had taught her that. But clearly her interrogation was getting nowhere. The person next to her was too slippery, and not easily shaken.

"Yes, but it's understandable. It must be hard to trust people when you're used to being on the run."

"Excuse me?"

"It must be very difficult." He said it in a sympathetic tone, but Hermione felt mocked. His eyebrow were knitted in concern, but the rest of his waxy face remained in place, expressionless.

"Yes, I suppose so." Hermione and Demetri were surrounded by people, but for some reason there were alarm bells going off in her head.

"Will you excuse me? I need to use the restroom."

"Of course." Hermione rushed off the bathroom, a foreboding feeling flooding her. She nearly ran into the bride-to-be. "Ginny, you scared me."

"Hermione, you seem tense. Everything alright?"

"I know you won't want to hear about this again, but something about Demetri is really getting under my skin." Hermione said it in a loud whisper, unable to shake the feeling that he was somehow listening.

"Hermione, he's a very sweet man, and I think he's interested in you," Ginny replied, pronouncing the latter half of her sentence in a sing-song voice as she wagged her head back and forth. She was clearly drunk.

"What makes you say that?" Hermione replied breathlessly, terrified of the idea that he was interested in her, but also somewhat excited at the prospect.

"Let's just say I didn't choose the seats completely randomly," Ginny replied with an exaggerated wink. "Certain seats were requested." Demetri requested her? That couldn't be good.

"Then how did Ron end up next to me?"

"Just for fun."

"Thanks, Ginny."

"I really should be getting back. I'm getting married tomorrow!" Hermione and Ginny gushed about the upcoming wedding briefly, but Hermione's heart wasn't in it. She had the same feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had at the Lovegoods' during their visit to Luna's dad. It wasn't a good feeling.

Hermione didn't really need to use the restroom, so she splashed water on her face and returned to the festivities. Part of her wanted to leave, but she couldn't get Demetri's words out of her head. _It must be hard to trust people when you're used to being on the run._ Was she really going to let what might just be paranoia keep her from her friend's rehearsal dinner? And she would have to face Demetri at the wedding tomorrow regardless.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming back." Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

"Me either," she responded jokingly. Demetri stared back at her with those strangely flat green eyes. And then she remembered something she had read in one her textbooks: it was impossible to transfigure eyes perfectly. They often turned out matte, and even that required enormous skill. It could result in permanent blindness if performed incorrectly, which is why she had never seen the strange effect in person.

"Green is a very unique eye color."

"I'm aware."

"Something like one percent of the population has it."

"That sounds accurate."

Hermione tried to bite her tongue. But whether it was the wine or a decades-old need to prove herself, she couldn't. "It's interesting that you would pick one of the most unique eye colors to transfigure your eyes to."

"Excuse me?" He was thrown, his fake eyes widening only for a moment before he was collected again. His emotional control was impressive, not to mention the skill needed to perform that transfiguration. Even more impressive was the level of confidence he would need to have in his own ability to attempt it.

"You must be very vain," Hermione tried to joke, but knew that her voice still sounded flat. She wasn't as good an actor as her neighbor.

Demetri studied her unabashedly as though considering his options. "Yes, that's true. I always hated my eye color."

"You're not going to deny it? Smart man."

"Clearly I can't get anything past you, Hermione." It sounded like a threat. It really, really sounded like a threat. So when Hermione heard George beginning his drunk goodbyes, she leapt at the opportunity.

"George, let me help you home."

"Hermione, I am fine. I really am—" Hermione wrapped her arms around George as though to hug him and whispered in his ear, _"just go with it."_

"Well, alright, Hermione, if you insist. You never did know how to have fun."

Hermione rolled her eyes and slipped an arm around George. She didn't bother looking behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, or read the first chapter.  
Apologies it's taken so long to get this one out. Hope you enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

/

Hermione hadn't slept much between the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. She was haunted by those strange green eyes and the flat voice that accompanied them. She rolled out of bed and went straight to the wedding venue; her dress was already there. She had to apparate to the edge of the grounds. Apparently the venue had problems in the past with people apparating mid-wedding and disrupting the ceremony (unintentionally and otherwise).

And so she landed in the cool green grass and began to walk toward the off-white marble building where Ginny was surely already getting ready. She was wearing button-up pajamas that she never wore to bed, but often wore in the morning as she had her coffee. That morning, though, she decided caffeine could wait; she was already a couple minutes late, after all. And Hermione Granger did not like to be late.

As she walked, she heard footsteps behind her. Feeling inexplicably spooked, she walked a little faster instead of greeting whoever was behind her. Unfortunately, they had other ideas. She felt a cool hand press against her lower back; a strange place to indicate that someone should turn around. The icy feel of the skin permeated her clothing and made her tense slightly as she turned around, face-to-face with the source of her discomfort.

Demetri was already dressed for the day, wearing the fitted navy dress robes that Draco had selected for him and Goyle. She could barely make out his face. He was standing directly in the shadow of a large column, a blot of darkness on an otherwise sunny day.

"I really should be going; I'm already running a tad late."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"And how would you know what sounds like me?"

"As I said, you're Hermione Granger. Everyone knows everything about you." He was mocking her.

"Not everything," Hermione corrected, injecting more certainty into her voice than she felt. She stepped into the shadow of the column. If she were going to talk with Demetri, she would at least be on a level playing field. As it were, he could make out every facial expression while he was shrouded in darkness. Hermione squinted slightly as she got out of the sun. The temperature dropped almost immediately and her eyes began the adjust.

Well, if she had any doubts before, there were none left. He was certainly messing with her in addition to blatantly showing off. Hermione swallowed and stayed silent, not wanting to point out the obvious. She was feeling increasingly foolish for engaging the man across from her; she should have investigated him quietly, but had taken to heart the accusation that she might just be paranoid. While she certainly did have a tendency toward suspicion, her instincts had been dead on. Presumably in response to their conversation the evening before, he had changed his eyes to a pale blue.

"As I said, I should go get ready and help Ginny."

"Of course," Demetri replied in a smooth voice. "We'll talk later." It was not a question.

/

"Where've you been, Hermione?" Ginny demanded, slightly frantic.

"I'm so sorry, I was running slightly late and then Demetri stopped me on the grounds. I got away as fast as I could."

"It's fine, just get ready. We only have two and a half hours before you need to be out there."

Hermione prevented herself from rolling her eyes and mustered up as much sincerity as she can when she responded with: "Yes, of course, I'll start right away."

Hermione got ready quickly, making herself available to help her friend and soothe her nerves. As it happened, Ginny had a fairly sudden case of cold feet that distracted Hermione entirely from her previous musings about the odd man she had somehow become entangled with.

/

By the time she was being ushered out to begin the walk down the aisle with her partner, she had nearly forgotten who he was. As she stepped outside the bridal suite, she was walking somewhere between sideways and backwards as she carried on a conversation with George, who was looking for advice on how to conceal the loud argument that was happening outside (between Lucius and Arthur) from Ginny. Hermione shrugged helplessly as she ran right into a stiff, cold body—rather like a corpse.

Just as she had the thought, cold fingers clasped around her wrist, spinning her around as she stopped speaking midsentence.

"Hermione?" George demanded.

"You already know what to do— _break it up._ The wedding is already running behind and Ginny will get suspicious soon. I just talked her into walking down the aisle, we don't need more problems."

"You just did _what?_ "

"Handle it."

George stalked off rather than answering, shaking his head and muttering something about his sister marrying a Malfoy that Hermione steadily ignored.

"Difficult day?"

Hermione scoffed. "I'm really ready to walk down the aisle with you," she replied in a biting tone.

"How sweet."

"Yes. Then I'll be rid of your company," Hermione said with a grim smile.

Demetri just laughed. "I think you're rather fond of me. Bit of a crush?" Hermione didn't respond, instead fidgeting with her hem even though she knew it was perfect. She did not want to interact with Demetri more than was absolutely necessary.

/

Despite the commotion prior, the ceremony ran smoothly. Demetri was a perfect gentleman, stiff as a board in his position as the inside of his right below held firm against her left one.

The reception, on the other hand, felt long. Within an hour, the majority of the guests either had too much to drink or were too busy dancing to hold a conversation. Hermione sat at the wedding party's table alone for a while, sipping her cocktail slowly and watching the flame of the candle in front of her.

"I see you know how to entertain yourself." The words dripped out like molasses. Sickly sweet but oddly enticing. She didn't want to get wrapped up in it, but it would be risky not to respond if he were truly dangerous, Hermione reasoned with herself.

"Yes. I do." A response without turning around seemed the best course. Demetri apparently disagreed. His fingers brushed against her cold shoulder as he pulled out the chair next to her to sit down.

"You don't seem happy to have the company," He observed evenly.

"And yet you sat," Hermione couldn't help but spit out.

"Have I offended you?"

"Well earlier you—" Hermione stopped, turning her head slowly to meet his eyes. As the light from the candle flickered, the light tricked her eyes into seeing patterns in his dead ones, but they were the same green as the night before: not the ice that matched the chilly morning. He raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, as though daring her to finish that sentence. "You seemed quite cross with me."

"You were rather rude last night, but Draco assured me that's just how you are when you have a crush."

"Pardon?"

"He explained that's how you were when you two were children and you were interested in him."

"Excuse me?!"

"Something I said?" The overdone faux innocence was maddening.

"I _never_ had a crush on Draco."

"It's curious that when I suggested you might have a crush on me, I hardly elicited the same reaction."

"That's because Draco was vile, and it's so absurd—"

"And as for me?" Demetri looked too pleased with himself.

"I am certainly not interested in you," Hermione responded, adding to herself that she was terrified of the man across from her—and perhaps a bit attracted to him as well. Attraction, though, was not interest.

He leaned in closer. His skin looked so smooth and waxy that she had a stray thought pondering if it would melt in the candlelight. Of course, it didn't. It only illuminated the near perfection, set off by that long vein that cut through his forehead. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that the person in front of her didn't seem quite real, but she boldly traced it with her finger. Quickly, though, she pulled back as if she had been burnt, processing her actions a bit too late. "Apologies," she mumbled. "I don't normally—I've had a lot to drink."

"No apology necessary." He glanced around the thinning wedding party. "I really should head home."

"Oh," Hermione squeaked out, embarrassed and now suddenly less inclined to be rid of him.

Demetri smiled, stretching his lips out in a way that should have been kind, but lacked the warmth behind it to have that effect. Instead, he looked triumphant. As he rose from his seat, he slowly traced a line from her elbow to her shoulder. "We'll see each other soon," he said in a low voice before withdrawing. Although Hermione had rarely seen the wizard apart from the wedding and its preparations, there was a confidence that his voice carried that made her believe the words.

Hermione pulled her cardigan around her as she felt a shiver run not down her spine, but through her entire body. She briefly tried to ascertain whether it was from fear or excitement, but was unable to arrive at a conclusion because—much like his words were both a threat and a promise—it was from both.


	3. Chapter 3

His hands—pulling, yanking, stripping her clothes off, piece by piece. And then his right hand would tug at her cheek—right under the cheekbone that was becoming more prominent that less she ate, the more she thought about him.

"What are you doing?" She would ask, the same question night after night.

"Taking off your mask," he would sometimes say, or, "whatever I want," other nights.

She would always ask him why. "I'm not wearing a mask," she would add occasionally.

And every time she did, his response was the same: "But I am."

Every night she would wake up with a vague memory of the exchange, fuzzy on the details, but with the chills all the same. She would put a heat spell on her blanket and go back to sleep. Sometimes she would need a sleeping potion, but not every night.

It had been over a year since the wedding; since she had seen him.

She had been studiously avoiding him. But even during daylight, he felt like her shadow. Every dark corner she turned (too many, in the Department of Mysteries), she would glance back, catching a bit of that familiar scent of cinnamon and thyme that two meetings had burned into her memory. No one was ever there.

When asked about her sudden change in candle preference (from vanilla to cinnamon), she said it was the autumn leaves that sparked the change. Luckily no one remembered her comment when spring came and the same bright red, cinnamon candle burned in the her living room. It had three wicks, enough that the scent greeted her even as she returned from work the following day. It smelled like him, but off—why did she want to be reminded of him when the thought of him made her weak with fear? She was good at pushing those questions out of her thoughts, off to the side, a question for future Hermione, perhaps (but not so, for she would never confront it of her own volition).

Still, she couldn't shake the tendencies of her youth. Having him on her mind and wondering about him was enough to drive her to research him. She was subtle at first. She asked the librarian at the Ministry library. He knew nothing. Books were not illuminating. She asked Draco and other friends. All they knew was that he didn't play Quidditch, which they found odd. Her old enemy recalled suspiciously little about his groomsman, which Hermione couldn't help but note was somewhat irresponsible. As time wore on, her obsession deepened and her care corroded. Ginny told her she was being silly, but Hermione ignored her friend. She asked everyone, even near strangers. No one knew anything.

One year, two months, three weeks, and six days after the wedding, she thought she might be rid of him. Perhaps he was a chimera that everyone saw somehow.

"I hear you've been asking about me." His thick voice, recognizable anywhere, echoed off the walls of the empty hallway. It was one of those long hallways in the Department of Mysteries that never seemed to end. But the shadows never spoke.

"And who are you?" She asked, not turning around, because he couldn't be there, not really.

"Let's not play games, Hermione." His hand grazed her shoulder, starting too far forward and tracing its way back. "You've lost some weight," he commented as he grazed over her bone. "Any particular reason?"

"It's intentional," she responded with a swallow, still not turning around. And his hand rested there, over her thin sweater where her overly bony shoulder resided.

"Why?"

His _why_ reminded her of her dreams, her constant dreams about the man who was behind her, too real and too lifelike. Hermione froze. She shuddered. The movement reverberated through her entire body, and still his hand was there, like a dead weight.

"There's no need to be scared."

"I'm not."

He pressed against her back; he was too close. "Why, then, are you shaking like a leaf?"

"Um."

"Hmm?" He asked, closer to her ear but not touching. Still, she could feel his breath and she was close enough to smell him—it was different today.

"No cinnamon," she muttered to herself.

"Pardon?"

"You changed your cologne?"

"Oh, Hermione, you do remember me." There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice, but a streak of sincerity that seemed out of place.

"Yes."

"I remember you, too. Why did you shudder? Are you scared or aroused?"

 _Both._ "Why would I be scared of you, Mr. Vole?" She avoided the second part of his question.

"Mr. Vole? I think we know each other a bit better than that, _Hermione."_

It sounded like he was making some sort of joke, but Hermione wasn't in on it.

"Allow me to repeat myself. I hear you've been asking about me." Those long fingers—that should have belonged to a professional pianist, really—snaked around her waist, pressing against her ribcage and tracing the line between her sweater and her burgundy pencil skirt.

"Like you said—I'm attracted to you," Hermione told herself it was a lie, and it wasn't the whole truth at least, but it was part of it. And she knew it.

"And?"

"You never contacted me after the wedding."

"You didn't contact me either."

There was no good excuse for that. "I was waiting for you," she responded, her voice wavering.

"You don't strike me as the type to do that. Regardless, you've been asking about me and I'm here. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"Do you remember me?"

"Pardon?" He repeated; there seemed to be some genuine confusion this time.

She whipped around in a sudden movement, wresting herself from his grasp and facing him in the darkness. _"Lumos,"_ she whispered.

"You don't like the dark, Hermione?" Demetri asked, his voice mocking her just as she remembered.

"The dark allows people to hide, like you, behind your faux politeness. I will not allow you to intimidate me, _Mr. Vole._ I asked if you remember me because you said you had read so much about me in the papers. Then you know that I helped to defeat Voldemort, and if I can do that, I can certainly be approached in a dark hallway without fear. Your attempt to shake me is noted, and rejected. The year I didn't see you was a great year."

"I am not trying to shake you, Hermione, and yet I find you shivering at my mere presence." His cold hand was on her again, stroking under her chin this time.

"I would appreciate if you could refrain from touching me." A smirk in response, yet he dropped his hand. "You startled me, I will admit. It's a small department and you aren't in it. So may I ask what you are doing down here?"

"To see you, my dear. As I said twice now, I have heard you were asking after me."

She held the wand up to his eyes: green as grass, again.

"You're checking up on me," he whispered as she raised her wand. It was not a pleasant tone.

"Yes," she responded in a defiant voice.

"Have dinner with me."

"Why?"

"I think it's time that I answered some of the questions that I can see swimming around in that brain of yours, Granger."

"Dinner where?"

"My apartment," Demetri responded in a confident tone.

"That's rather forward."

He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in the stiffest motion she had ever seen in a shrug. "I waited a year."

She bit her lip, hard, as she thought. Unexpectedly, his thumb met her lip. "Don't do that, dear." _That's the second time he called me dear._ "Come over."

His voice was hypnotic, and she found herself nodding without thinking or even wanting to meet him. "Good girl." He kissed her forehead and brushed one of her erratic locks behind her ear. "I'll send an owl with the details. I look forward to it." As if in a trance, she only nodded with a slight incline of her head. And just like that, he was gone, robes swishing down the winding hallways until all she could see was his shadow. Then, nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione stood for a long time, frozen in the hallway of the Department of Mysteries, trying to access the part of herself that betrayed her rational thoughts and agreed to a dinner date with the strange man. What was especially striking about their encounter was his forwardness—she would have expected it right after the wedding, but why wait so long to track her down? They had been working in the same building the entire time.

Perhaps it was for the best that they were meeting again; the more she got to know him, the more she would hopefully see how overblown her fears had been.

Hermione tried to continue to think those positive thoughts as her sense of foreboding increased, refusing to pay heed to her optimism. The week dragged on without any word from Demetri. By Sunday—six days later—Hermione wondered if it truly had been a dream that she had somehow thought was real. But that's when a strange owl began rapping on her window.

"Whose owl is that?" Ginny asked curiously. Her friend often came by for tea on Sundays, and this was one of those weeks.

"I don't know," Hermione lied. She didn't want to admit that she was expecting an owl from Demetri, and besides, there was no reason for her to know that it was Demetri's owl. Strange owls showed up at her flat often regarding research updates. Still, there was something about the stoic bird that told her it belonged to him.

She opened the note gingerly. The owl didn't move as she did so, instead fixing its large yellow eyes on her.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I am elated that you have agreed to have dinner with me. I apologize for the lengthy wait before sending Edmund to you; I have had pressing matters to attend to. I am hoping that this coming Friday at seven o'clock will suit you. I plan to collect you at your apartment._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Demetri Vole_

Hermione had completely forgotten Ginny was in the room, but was abruptly reminded of the fact when she realized that the redhead had been reading over her shoulder.

She braced herself just before Ginny screamed and embraced her in a crushing hug. "I knew it! It took you long enough."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ginny. I don't even know why I said yes, perhaps I was just… flustered."

"Flustered?" Ginny repeated with a knowing smile.

"Sure," Hermione muttered, more to herself than Ginny.

"How does he know where you live?" Ginny asked suggestively, clearly thinking he had been to her flat previously, although he hadn't, at least to her knowledge.

"It doesn't matter." Hermione had long since abandoned the project of convincing anyone else of Demetri—well, she didn't know exactly what it was. A feeling, mostly.

* * *

Hermione hadn't responded to the note. She knew it would make absolutely no difference. She toyed with the idea of not being at home when he came to "collect" her, as he so elegantly put it. Ultimately, though, she found herself slightly better dressed than usual, drinking a glass of cognac and petting Crookshanks when a loud knock sounded.

"One moment," Hermione hummed as she walked to the door. She felt her breath catch and pushed it away, telling herself not to be so in her head about the evening.

Demetri was more dressed up than she in Slytherin-green wizarding robes. She was wearing a cream v-neck sweater, black pants, and black boots.

"Good evening," he greeted her.

Hermione nodded. "How are we getting to your flat?"

"As I'm the only one that can apparate in or out, side-along apparition is the only option."

Hermione could not help but dwell on the "or out" portion of that sentence; was apparating with him the only way out of his place? She shook her head as if the clear it. _There's always the door, Hermione,_ she chastised herself.

"Don't you have a floo?" She still asked.

"I don't, no." She felt his thumb on her lower lip again; she hadn't processed that she had been biting it. "You have lipstick on your teeth."

Hermione nodded and snuck away to her bathroom wordlessly, rubbing her front tooth with her finger to remove the spot of bright red lipstick that has transferred to it. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment; why had she even worn lipstick tonight?

Slowly, she walked the short hallway back to her living room to find Demetri drinking the rest of her brandy. "Are you ready to go now?" He asked with faux patience.

"Yes. Although I don't appreciate you stealing my drink."

He laughed, a rich laugh that sounded like little bells. "I have much better at home." Hermione narrowed her eyes at his rude comment, which only served to widen his smile.

So they walked outside, past her own apparition wards. Though they only needed to touch, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly against him, not warning her before the fierce turning of side-along apparation hit her.

As they landed, balance was hopeless. Demetri tried to catch her, but they were intertwined enough that they both simply ended up knocked over, him on top of her in the middle of freshly fallen snow. She could make out a large house that looked nothing like the supposed apartment he had mentioned, but what could she expect from the irritating man on top of her. Even as she asked herself for the millionth time why she didn't try harder to get out of their "date" tonight, the answer was obvious: curiosity, mixed with some attraction, admittedly.

"Sorry," she mumbled, trying to move but unable to as she was completely pinned down by the man above her.

Partly because of the proximity and partly because of the darkness, she could barely make out his facial features. His nose brushed against hers, but otherwise neither of them moved. "Excuse me?" She squeaked, her chest compressed by the weight of his body.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind helping me up, please?" _Translation: please remove yourself from my person._

"I rather like you in this position." Hermione shook her head, shooting Demetri an annoyed look that he probably couldn't see as there was only a sliver of a moon.

"Demetri, I'm cold."

He moved off her slowly, slipping his fingers through hers so that he was holding both of her hands as he helped her up. She followed behind him as he strode through the blue door of his otherwise colorless house. "Why did we apparate to the outside?" Hermione demanded, shivering still from the chill.

He cast wandless charms to dry her and warm her, which she responded only with a suspicious look. "I could have done that," she snapped.

"Yes, but I did it instead. I like the way it sounds when you say my name," he added.

"That was a bit of a non sequitur," Hermione commented. "I'm sure I've used your name plenty of times."

"No, that was the first."

Hermione shot him an odd look. "You usually sneak up on me," she responded after a while.

"Yes."

They both stared at one another for a minute. It was the first opportunity Hermione had to study Demetri in decent lighting since the wedding, and she couldn't help but note that he looked different. Somehow, he had grown even more handsome, but simultaneously looked younger, which didn't make much sense.

Finally, one of them spoke. "Would you like a tour? We won't be having dinner in the foyer."

"That sounds fine," Hermione said cautiously. "Ginny was excited that we were finally having dinner," she commented, not-so-subtly informing Demetri that someone knew of their "date."

Demetri chuckled in response, and she got the feeling he knew exactly why she slipped Ginny into their conversation, which was confirmed by his next comment. "I plan to return you in one piece, Hermione."

She thought about insisting that she wasn't suggesting he wouldn't, but ultimately didn't bother. The intention was clear.

The tour was rather abbreviated; mostly just "this is the – room" and then moving on. He didn't pause at his bedroom. There was something eerily familiar about the entire house, but Hermione couldn't place her finger on what that was. "How did you acquire this house?"

"I thought you might save the interrogation until dinner, but I suppose spacing it out is fine, as well." His tone was not as light-hearted than the words would suggest. He stared at the wall for a moment. Hermione followed his eyeline but saw nothing of interest—just a continuing stretch of white wall. "I inherited it."

"Oh. From whom?"

"Distant relatives," he responded, still staring at the wall. He seemed affected, which caught Hermione off guard.

"I apologize for bringing it up; I realize this might be a touchy subject."

He spun around to face her, scrutinizing her facial expression. "Pardon?"

 _Did he not hear me?_ "I merely apologized. It seems like a sensitive topic."

Demetri scanned her eyes as though reading a book while she spoke. She briefly wondered if he was a Legilimens, but she didn't feel anything. And though no one had ever attempted the art on her, she had heard from Harry that it's perceptible.

"Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome, Demetri," Hermione responded shakily.

"How did you know right away?" Demetri asked after a long pause, leaning against the wall while Hermione stood slouched in the middle of the hallway.

"Know about what?"

"My eyes." He had a troubled expression on his face that made Hermione think he had racked his brain often to determine how she had figured it out.

 _I do not like this topic_ , Hermione thought. It only made her think back to the day of the wedding, when he transfigured them _twice._ How did he do that? Is he just cocky and lucky—or is he just that good?

"They're very matte." Demetri didn't respond, as though waiting for the silence to spur her to continue. "I noticed they were off, and reminded me of something. Eventually I thought back to a passage I had read about transfiguring one's eyes."

"Clever."

"Not as clever as you, I suppose, as you accomplished it," Hermione replied with a hint of bitterness. She was very accustomed to being the best student in the room. And that reminded her—"Did you do well at Durmstrang?"

"Of course." Hermione couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "And I know you did well at Hogwarts."

"Yes. Because you know so much about me, but no one knows anything about you."

"I like a little mystery. Don't you?"

Hermione didn't respond, but took his arm as he extended it before leading them downstairs, presumably for dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione had barely slipped into her seat for dinner before she cleared her throat—wincing slightly as she thought of Umbridge—and reminded Demetri not-so-gently that she was promised answers at this dinner.

"Ah. Is this the only reason you agreed to have dinner with me, Hermione? And here I thought we were getting along so well."

Hermione inwardly groaned. "You're dodging again."

"As are you."

"What am _I_ avoiding, then?" Hermione took the bait.

"I asked if this was the only reason you agreed to have dinner with me."

"Yes."

"And is it?" Demetri asked, the left side of his lip slightly turned upward.

"Yes."

"If you insist on lying, how can you expect me to tell the truth?"

"Demetri, I am not a fan of your mental ping-pong." Hermione took a sip of the dark red wine that had appeared in her glass, glad of anything to do with her hands. She always felt a bit under the microscope around the man across from her, and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

"Ping what?" He responded after a beat, chuckling more than she would expect for someone who was apparently confused. His tone had also changed slightly. Perhaps he was hiding that he was muggle-born? But why hide that from her?

"What is your family heritage?"

A raised eyebrow.

"I wouldn't expect that kind of question from you, Hermione."

"You just pretended not to know what ping pong was, so I was wondering," she explained, realizing her mistake halfway through the sentence.

"Pretended? You accuse people of lying quite often." Demetri reached out for his glass as well, but merely skimmed the surface of the rim with his index finger.

"Not people, just you. And you just accused me of lying seconds ago, so…"

"Alas, we are at an impasse."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Because you think lying about feelings is less lying than lying about something else?"

"So you are lying?"

Demetri just shrugged, but it looked odd on him—calculating. "I'm glad you decided to come over; this has been very entertaining so far. And we haven't even begun to eat yet."

"What are we having, anyway?" Hermione asked with her arms crossed.

"I made dinner." He sneered a bit before adding: "with magic."

Hermione rolled her eyes, arms still crossed. The scent of pesto quickly filled the room as plates of pasta were levitated in front of each of them.

She softened her posture slightly as her stomach grumbled. "How did you know pesto was my favorite?"

"You asked about me; I asked about you."

With a sigh, Hermione gave in and dug into her food, silence descending as she quickly ate.

"You were hungry," Demetri commented with more than a hint of smugness at his "cooking."

"It was good," Hermione admitted.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the dinner was not fruitful. Demetri was intentionally evasive and as they walked to the door of his apartment, she felt just as annoyed with him as she did at the beginning of the evening—the only change was now she was significantly fuller on food and alcohol.

"So how does this work?" Hermione asked, hands on her hips.

"Pardon?" Demetri had his hand on the door frame, but didn't lean into it so that instead of a casual posture, he was just a little too close while standing perfectly straight.

"You said only you can come in—or out. Don't tell me you added the last bit just to scare me?"

Demetri grinned that crooked smile that she hadn't seen all night, and she immediately wanted to kiss him. _Hermione_ , she scolded herself, _this was not a good night for a fourth drink_.

"Did it work?" He asked.

She groaned in response. "Can I go home now?"

"No, I don't think I'll let you leave." Hermione laughed nervously as his index finger crossed the few inches between them and traced the edge of her ear down her jawline. As his finger rested on her chin, the pad of his thumb parted her lips slightly, and she felt herself edge forward, readying for a kiss.

"I'm just joking, of course," he replied smoothly, breaking contact and stepping in front of her to open his door.

"Of course," Hermione said in a hollow tone, thoroughly frustrated in more ways than one.

"I'll apparate you home."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he grabbed her fiercely. She felt her stomach turn upside down as the side-along apparition hit. She was still dizzy from the feeling when she noticed they were in the exact position they had been when turning.

"It seems you know how to not tackle me to the ground when it doesn't suit you."

"It always suits me." She sighed; of course he didn't deny intentionally knocking her over. "But I didn't want to be crushing you when I do this."

His lips crashed into her before his hands followed, moving upward to grab the sides of her face.

Hermione moved her hands toward him with thoughts of pushing him away (even as she kissed him back) but instead just grabbed his collar and pulled him closer.

When their kiss broke, it wasn't because of her. She was slightly breathless, victorious as she saw that his normally perfect appearance was affected with his robes slightly wrinkled and the left side of his lower lip swollen.

"See you soon, then," Hermione hurriedly spoke, suddenly feeling a bit unsure of herself.

"Yes."

With a nod, Hermione headed inside her apartment, backing away from him before going for the lock. By the time she slipped inside, he was gone.

* * *

Having exercised every legal means of finding out about Demetri Vole during the prior year, Hermione couldn't help but expand her search after their date.

Four days later, she stood outside the Ministry Records Room, internally arguing with herself.

 _Was this a completely insane plan?_

Regardless, she burst through the door, forming her mouth into a thin line.

The target of her mission was sitting at the custodian's desk, his mouth breaking out into the predatory grin that she commonly associated with him.

"Cormac." _This was definitely a bad idea._

"Hermione, what brings you here? Unspeakables rarely check out personnel records." After a pause, he leaned back in his chair, licked his lips and continued with, "Miss me?"

"Not quite, but I am looking to talk with you."

"What can I do for you, Granger?"

"I thought we might come to an arrangement. I need something from you, and I think I can help you." Hermione spoke in clipped tones, attempting to keep the meeting as professional as possible.

"Panties in a twist?"

"No." Her teeth were gritted now. "I understand you're up for a job against Blaise."

"I've heard of sleeping with the boss, but sleeping with someone from another department?" He shrugged, laughter in his eyes, clearly enjoying himself. "I don't see how it would help but I'm willing to give it a try." A wink followed.

"There will be no sex, but you're not terribly far off." The grin dimmed slightly as Cormac's wheels turned. Hermione was relieved that she seemed to have shut him up long enough to make her proposal, although she was even more queasy about it now.

"I will agree to pretend to publicly date you until a decision is made between you and Blaise—something like a month, I understand?" Cormac nodded numbly. "Two to three public outings a week; I will agree to one interview with anyone but Rita Skeeter discussing how happy we are together, et cetera." Cormac's mouth opened. "We can keep up the façade shortly after you receive the job if you're concerned about that." His mouth closed again. "I don't think I need to explain to you how public support from me would give you an edge."

After about a minute, he spoke up. "What do you get out of this?"

"All I need is one record—off the record."

He looked at her in disbelief. "What about sex?"

"Only chaste kisses on the cheek—in public."

He shrugged. "Done, Granger."

"I need to know what record you need to look at it to provide you access. Individualized security and all that."

"I can't do that," Hermione responded curtly.

"Pardon?"

"I need you to hand over the code breaker." The code breaker was a device entrusted to the Records Custodian that broke the wards surrounding each individual record. The generalized wards over the room Cormac would break for her.

"Hermione, you didn't say that."

"I said one record. I didn't say how."

"I can't—"

"I won't compromise on this, Cormac. It's my final offer."

Just as she suspected, selfishness trumped job duties. Code breaker in hand, she walked down the hallway of the Record Room, stopping at one Demetri Vole.

She located the record quickly, but could only stare at first. The abbreviation system the Ministry used had always bothered her—the first three letters of each name was used. Generated by magic, there was no human touch to change the result if it was terribly awkward. In her cases, and admittedly most, it was. Her name was abbreviated to Her. Jea. Gra. Not the best, certainly.

But the record in front of her showed her something she had been missing—although it had been in front of her all along. "Dem. Vol." Dem. Vol… Voldem.

She swallowed nervously. Hermione had realized long ago that his name meant flight from death in French. If she abbreviated Demetri's further, then it would simply be Volde; Voldemort without death.

Was it a message?

* * *

A/N: I realize everyone has different interpretations regarding the origins of Voldemort's name; I just wanted to note that I chose one here not at the exclusion of others but simply because it fit the story best. Hope you're enjoying it thus far!


	6. Chapter 6

"Hermione!" Cormac's voice jolted her to awareness. "What in Merlin's name is taking so damn long?"

"Be right out," Hermione called shakily, taking a deep breath before magically copying the information from the file onto blank parchment she had in her bag. She didn't bother looking at the records, working mechanically so that this trip would not be for naught.

* * *

Hermione's hands gripped the pensieve tightly; working in the Department of Mysteries had its benefits, one of which being access to a pensieve, something she needed desperately at the moment—although it may have caused her more harm than good.

Ten times. That's how many times she had watched Voldemort die again, observing his body, watching as Order members swarmed and checked to ensure the body was dead. One, two, three confirmations wasn't enough—the anxiety was still ever-present, not diminished quickly. But one by one, everyone agreed. He was dead.

Still, covered in cold sweat and tear streaks from tormenting herself, Hermione Granger wished she would have checked, too. She had been too focused on celebrating.

Logically, though, she could not think of a way he could still be alive. He was dead. His Horcruxes were destroyed. The last time everyone thought he was gone, there was no body. This time, there was.

 _There is nothing you're missing_ , she told herself, but a scared voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like herself as a child had to add— _but you aren't smarter than Voldemort. Just because you can't think of a way doesn't mean he can't._

What could the name mean, though, if Demetri weren't him? The only explanation that she could think of other than coincidence—which she dismissed out of hand; she had been through too much in her twenty-five years to put any stock in coincidence—was that Demetri was another dark wizard who had arrogantly named himself to suggest he would surpass Voldemort's accomplishments.

Given that no one would believe her if she tried to tell them, she would have to gather proof. Well, no one except Harry, but she couldn't burden him with this… could she?

Either way, she told herself, if she could handle Voldemort, she could handle a copycat. _I'll be damned if I let another dark wizard rise under my nose—even one who has such a nice nose himself._

* * *

The next day, Hermione knocked roughly on Harry's door, still undecided if she were going to share her thoughts with him.

"Harry! It's me, Hermione."

The door cracked open tentatively before widening enough to let her in. In the dim lighting of Harry's quarters, she could make out the familiar face of her best friend and the one person who would believe her if she voiced her concerns about Demetri.

Instead of speaking them out loud, she gave Harry a tight smile before pulling him into a hug.

Harry had been teaching Defense at Hogwarts nearly since the war ended—he had a brief career as an auror but ultimately could not handle being out in the field. He had seemed much more content since he began teaching, focusing on the new generation of wizards and witches instead of their own scarred peers.

Professor McGonagall had offered him the job immediately after the war. Despite his youth, there was no one more uniquely qualified to teach others to defend themselves than someone who had defeated the darkest wizard of their time _and_ had already successfully taught defense at the age of fifteen. Still, he hadn't taken it right away. He hadn't said why, but Hermione understood immediately. It was what Voldemort wanted to do straight out of school, and Harry couldn't stand the idea of having any more in common with the man—thing—whatever he was.

Eventually, though, he was led back to Hogwarts, becoming quite withdrawn within the familiar castle walls.

Today, his exhaustion was plainly written in his sagging shoulders, the bags under his eyes, and his slightly duller than usual green eyes.

No, she wouldn't be telling Harry anything.

"Good to see you, Hermione," Harry greeted her, levitating books off the armchair he gestured for her to sit in. He had clearly forgotten she was coming. On top of the stack, she noticed the _Prophet_ from today and sighed. The front cover had a picture of Cormac's arm around her while she smiled a (she thought) clearly plastered-on grin. They had gotten dinner the night before. He had leered at her before she threatened to curse his hands off. She buried her face in her own hands, pushing her hands roughly through her hair while reliving the memory.

Harry didn't comment on the anxiety she felt was flying off her. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Tea?"

Harry just nodded, moving to the kitchen. She slunk into the chair and waited, as well.

They sat and drank tea, chatting about old friends that no longer really overlapped—Ginny wouldn't have anything to do with Harry, and Ron wouldn't have anything to do with Hermione. They both saw Luna occasionally, but rarely together. Hermione got the impression that Harry didn't see much of anyone. They saw one another perhaps twice a month.

"What did you get up to today?" Hermione asked, sipping her tea.

"I only have three classes today, so I actually went out for lunch."

Hermione brightened up for a moment. "With Ron?" She guessed.

"No, with a friend of yours, I suppose." Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Demetri?" Her hand started shaking a bit as she put down her cup of tea. Her mind jumped to the letter sitting on her coffee table that she hadn't responded to. "I suppose he's compiling a sort of history of the war for the ministry, so he wanted to know the details about the Horcrux hunt, etcetera."

"Hmm," Hermione hummed, completely at a loss for words. Now he was researching how Voldemort was defeated? To ensure he didn't make the same mistakes, presumably. Was he making Horcruxes? Did he already have them? Is that why his skin had that strange waxy quality to it? _But his skin was so smooth last time—different. Decidedly different. Why? Seeking immortality should have the opposite effect._

"Hermione?"

"Apologies, Harry, lost in my thoughts."

"I figured as much. I was just saying I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned it to you."

"Yes." She had to find out whether this was an official Ministry project, and she needed to respond to Demetri. Hermione knew she couldn't just cut him out of her life. She needed to know what he was up to. And she didn't know what it meant that he had lunch with Harry. It felt like more than gathering information.

"Are you going to tell me about this?" Harry asked, amusement creeping into his eyes for the first time that day as he gestured toward the picture of her and Cormac.

Hermione sighed. She couldn't really tell Harry that she was doing it as a favor to Cormac because she didn't want to admit she had used Cormac for a favor of her own. Then Harry would definitely know something was up, as if he didn't sense it enough already.

"It's just sex."

Harry laughed, seeming to accept her answer.

Hermione excused herself soon afterward, the letter in her kitchen haunting her. She went to it just as she got in, not even bothering to remove her coat first.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Last Friday was lovely. Please accept my invitation to dine on Friday at Fauna._

 _Yours,_

 _Demetri_

The only evidence that he'd seen her picture in the paper was the newspaper ink on the right edge of the parchment. She didn't for one second think that was a mistake; the man was impeccable, and leaving stray ink would certainly have required a rewrite were it not intentional. Hermione also attributed his desire to meet publicly to the photograph.

The fact that Fauna was the hardest restaurant to get into in all of wizarding Britain was simply a given.

She couldn't say no. If she were right about him being a budding dark wizard, she needed to prove it and that meant keeping an eye on him, as much as she might not like the idea (in addition to not liking how part of her—not her mind—liked that idea very much).

But she couldn't say yes; it would break her deal with Cormac and if he told anyone what she did, Demetri would know. It would be too obvious whose file she needed to see. Even Ginny would know given her obsession with finding out information about the man.

 _Demetri,_

 _I, too, had a wonderful time with you last weekend. I don't think Fauna will work; I promise to explain why when I see you. Perhaps I could make dinner instead?_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione_

She could not bring herself to write "yours." She was _not_ his.


	7. Chapter 7

Her original plan in obtaining the Ministry records had initially seemed—if not impossible—then ill advised. But Hermione was never very good at staying away from near-certain danger if it meant obtaining knowledge. She would just have to be careful (and perhaps a bit reckless).

Hermione had suspected that Demetri was not open about the home he had taken her to. He had at first said "apartment." She had chalked it up to his strange mysteriousness and perhaps a desire to dazzle her with his wealth—she inwardly scoffed at the idea.

Now, she had some (somewhat murky) confirmation that he had more nefarious intentions. Thus it seemed logical that he had at first intended to take her to an apartment and changed his mind later on.

With this in mind, she set off for the address on his records, not missing that he had listed an apartment number. 7. _What was it with dark wizards and an obsession with that number? And they say thirteen is unlucky._

She knocked first, in case he were home. Although judging by the slightly dodgy appearance of the building compared to where she had been, she suspected this apartment was a cover. _Knock, knock, knock_. Nothing. Good. She didn't have an explanation for knowing this address.

Now it was time for phase two. Hermione quickly disillusioned herself.

Then, Hermione tentatively reached out and touched the door handle. Nothing happened.

She twisted it. Locked.

 _Alohamora._ Not effective.

She reached over to the beaded bag hanging from her right shoulder and yanked out the book on wards she had stuffed in earlier that morning. Hermione had tabbed the pages that suggested various methods of removing them. The tabs were numbered to outline the ordering she had decided would be most effective.

As she worked through each attempt, she jotted down any effects—for number one and two, nothing, but for number three, a green glow temporarily hung around the doorframe.

She was on number sixteen when the door suddenly opened, revealing Demetri, his hair wet, falling in thick pieces over his face that still had water droplets on it. He had a Slytherin green towel around him—the man wore a lot of that color for a Durmstrang student.

"Please, don't let me interrupt your work," Demetri greeted her with a chuckle.

"But I—" Hermione put her arm against her body, as though that would tell her why her Disillusionment Charm had failed to protect her from the man in front of her.

"The wards removed it."

"How did you know I—"

"You're intelligent enough to use either a Notice-Me-Not or a Disillusionment Charm when you're trying to break into someone's flat. Which one it is doesn't matter; attempting to invade the wards would break either."

"Please stop interrupting me," Hermione snapped.

"Stop trying to break into my apartment," Demetri retorted, though he was evidently more amused than annoyed, judging from his tone.

Hermione huffed.

"There's no need to break in, Hermione. Please, come in."

Not seeing much other choice, she followed the subject of her investigation into his apartment, immediately taking stock in the sparse furnishings.

"As you likely already guessed, this is not my primary place of residence." His voice came from the other room as he quickly threw on a tee shirt and jeans—the most casual she had seen him.

"Why have it, then?" _And why list it as your primary place of residence on Ministry forms?_ Just then, his phrasing struck her, as it was exactly how the query was worded on official forms. He knew. What other excuse could she come up with?

"Sometimes I'm stuck in the city late and too tired to Apparate safely."

Hermione had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes. If Ronald told her such a thing, fine, but the wizard in front of her was much too powerful to be unable to Apparate due to fatigue. The smirk on his face essentially said as much. But she wouldn't correct him.

He began making a cocktail and poured her one without asking, handing it to her wordlessly as they settled on his dark gray couch.

"Why not install a floo connection at your house, then?"

"You must know that floo connections greatly reduce security."

"True," Hermione conceded. "Why are you so concerned about someone breaking in?"

"I was not involved in the war, but I heard about it." He swirled his glass, but his eyes bored into hers. "I do wonder that you are not more concerned about security, Hermione."

Hermione gulped involuntarily. "I can't let the war haunt my life forever."

"But of course." He flashed his teeth in a predatory manner. "I apologize for bringing it up." But his tone was far from apologetic. If anything, it mocked her.

"I really should be going," Hermione responded, trying to keep her nerves in check.

"Come, Hermione, we both know you had a bit of time or you would not chosen today to try to break into my apartment." His tone was light, but she could see clearly now that it was a ruse. He was furious.

"As I have already said," he continued, "I take security quite seriously and give out the location of my apartment sparingly."

Hermione's mind raced. _Sparingly?_ She dared hope that meant he gave it to more than just the Ministry. Perhaps Draco? He was his best man.

But why would Draco tell her? And then she came up with a plan that made her a bit uncomfortable, but it was the safest bet and truly the only thing she could think of other than a full confession.

"It's quite embarrassing, really." Hermione thought back to her teeth growing multiple times their size in hopes she could summon a blush. Feeling her face grow hot, she managed to keep her triumph private. "It's just that we had such a nice time at the wedding and you know I asked everyone about you already."

Demetri merely raised an eyebrow as she continued. "Draco mentioned you lived on this block, and since there were only ten apartments, I—I checked them all for magic. It took me a few hours to find your apartment, but I eventually did. I was too scared to go in, then. This was several months ago. You see, I don't know where your real house is, and I wanted to surprise you with a gift, so I came here instead."

"You were breaking into my apartment to give me a gift?" Demetri obviously did not believe her, but seemed unwilling to call her out. Interesting.

"Yes."

"What is it, then?"

"Pardon?" Her panic spiked.

"The gift?" Demetri had a slight smirk adorning his face, thinking he had her.

Hermione's mind reeled. With no intention of delivering anything, she hadn't brought anything other than the wards book. Breaking into someone's apartment and leaving a book on wards didn't make much sense.

She thought of an idea and felt an actual blush highlight her features. It was just embarrassing enough to fit with her known obsession and seem truthful. But she really didn't want to do it.

"It's a bit embarrassing; I think I may have lost my nerve."

Demetri was caught off guard and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. He draped his arm over her and lightly stroked her knee, making her feel even more mortified.

"What were you planning, Hermione?" His voice was barely a whisper, but she heard him perfectly.

She closed her eyes as though that would shield her from the laughter that was sure to follow her absurd excuse. "I was going to leave my knickers here."

Instead, she yelped and opened her eyes as Demetri roughly pulled her onto his lap, kissing her fiercely and pulling her flush against him.

As their kiss broke, his strange eyes roared with life, while the rest of his face was shadowed from thick blinds. "You are full of surprises, Hermione. Although unorthodox, I confess I am quite glad you did not wait until our dinner to see me." His voice was filled with lust; glad the room had darkened somewhat with the passing hour, Hermione could feel herself grow hot again. Her attraction was laced with shame as this was the first time she had seen Demetri since she discovered his connection to Voldemort.

She sighed. "I'm glad, too," she responded in an equally thick voice.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Hermione was practically falling asleep on the job. She had been up late last night thinking about her encounter with Demetri—admittedly in more ways than one. Desperate for some strong coffee, she decided to leave the confines of the Department of Mysteries and venture into the muggle world.

Thirty minutes later, she felt significantly cheerier with a three-quarter full coffee cup in her hand that she had spelled such that it would not spill all over her hand. The cheer didn't last long as she literally bumped into Cormac on her way back into the building. He was lucky that her charm made it such that the coffee just tumbled around in its to-go container.

"May I help you, Cormac?" She asked with a plastered-on smile as they were in the middle of the Department.

"Yes, you can definitely help me." His breath was hotter than her coffee and she needed distance or she didn't think she could physically keep up a believable charade.

"Kindly back away. Do you actually need anything?" She asked in a low voice.

"Yes. I would like to schedule the interview you promised."

Hermione groaned. She had completely forgotten about the interview. She had told Harry it was just sex. How would she explain this? And she still hadn't determined how she would make up a satisfactory excuse for Demetri, especially after the debacle the previous evening. She was a bit surprised he hadn't brought it up, but she had rather accosted him.

"Sooner is better," she decided. Best to get the unpleasantness over with, and she would have to explain her actions the following night whether the interview preceded the dinner or not.

"Great. Roger Mael already contacted me requesting one."

"You?" Hermione was a bit stunned that Cormac would be contacted first, but on second thought she tended to be rather short with press. Roger wrote fluff pieces that stretched the definition of "news"; it was perfect.

"Fine. See if you can set something up later today."

"I'll owl you," Cormac responded with a smile reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.

"Typically a superior method of communication than knocking me over," Hermione quipped before walking away.

* * *

Roger was clearly desperate for a story. Pre-dinner drinks were set in a rarely trafficked pub for privacy. Hermione received the owl with the details a mere twenty minutes after she had gotten back to work.

Hermione had her own pre-drinks drink in preparation for the irritating task ahead of her. Slightly buzzed, she apparated to just outside the pub. Before she could go in, however, she spotted Demetri walking from another pub down the street. She tried to duck in quickly, but he had already noticed her.

"Hi, Demetri."

"Hermione." She hated the goosebumps that formed at the sound of him saying her name. "This doesn't really seem like your type of establishment," Demetri noted conversationally as he closed in on her.

"I'm meeting friends here." Almost true, although it was certainly stretching the definition of "friends" to have it include Roger and Cormac. She wasn't actually sure which of the two were less of a friend.

"Interesting choice. Mind if I join you?"

"I do mind, actually." Perhaps today would have been better spent coming up with an excuse Cormac, but it was too late, especially when she felt Cormac's arm around her shoulder.

"Is this guy bothering you, Hermione?" Cormac asked more to Demetri than to her. Hermione held herself back from scoffing; as though Cormac could do anything about it if Demetri were bothering her.

"No, Cormac, this is an old friend, Demetri."

Demetri looked perfectly composed, but Hermione noticed that he had grown a full shade paler, and that his wand hand was twitching around his wand erratically. He was livid.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, darling?" _Shut up, Cormac!_ , Hermione wanted to scream. _Can't you see we're in danger?_

"This is my boyfriend, Cormac." Hermione's eyes widened and she tried to put on her best apologetic face to convey that she would explain—somehow—at dinner the following night.

"Pleasure," Demetri responded in a silky voice, but his hand did not extend for a handshake. Instead, his right hand stayed firmly clasped around his wand.

"We should be getting inside," Cormac said, pulling Hermione closer. "We have an interview with the _Prophet_." _Idiot, idiot, idiot_ , Hermione chanted inwardly.

"Don't let me keep you." Although Demetri was theoretically speaking to both of them, his eyes glared at her alone.

Still, Cormac moved her frozen body so that they walked inside the pub together, leaving Demetri behind.

As they entered the pub, Hermione slid into her seat dejectedly.

"I'm going to go grab drinks," Cormac announced. When she didn't respond, he asked if she would like anything.

"Firewhiskey neat," Hermione responded robotically, fretting over Demetri. The interview no longer appeared to be the worst part of her evening.

When Cormac returned with the requested drink, he started to get irritated. "You promised me an interview that makes us look like a happy couple," he half-whispered, half-hissed. "How are we supposed to do that if you have that sour expression on when Roger comes in."

Hermione looked him in the eye as she chugged her drink and slammed it on the table. She adorned a fake smile and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Would you get me another drink, _darling?_ "

Cormac looked down at her arms wrapped around him in shock, and then put his hand on her leg before leaning over to whisper in her ear. "I don't know what's up with you, but this is much better," he said before rushing up to get her another drink.

During this reprieve from Cormac's company, Roger arrived an unprofessional seven minutes late.

"Hello, Roger," Hermione said in her sunniest voice while waving him over to her table.

"Ms. Granger," Roger greeted her formally. He seemed to be a bit terrified of her. She thought about asking him to call him Hermione, but found his demeanor amusing, so she left it at that.

She channeled her inner actress from there on out, reminding herself of the potentially life-or-death consequences if it got out that she had looked at someone's record, not to mention any impacts on her career.

When Cormac returned, she thanked him, calling him darling again and kissing him on the cheek.

A moment of surprise registered on his face briefly, but he covered it up by repeating the same irritating action as he had outside: wrapping his arm around her and pulling her face toward his neck as if she were a scarf.

"How long has this been going on?" Roger asked with a smile. It seemed he didn't have any interest in small talk. That was for the best; Hermione would very much like to get this over with.

Hermione opened her mouth but Cormac beat her to the punch. "Two months. We've just decided to go public with it."

Hermione kept her smile intact while berating him internally. They certainly did not agree to have been dating longer than it appeared.

"I knew it was longer than just this week," Roger said with a wink. "I have an intuition for this sort of thing." _Apparently not_ , Hermione kept to herself.

"How did you two meet?"

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes; had the man ever heard of research. "We were in the same year at Hogwarts."

"Both Gryffindors," Cormac added. "Hermione is quiet the lioness."

She shot him a warning look that might look faux angry to the reporter, but she hoped Cormac would know better.

Roger smirked knowingly. "Hogwarts sweethearts, then?"

"You could say that," Cormac responded.

 _Absolutely not._ Stretching back this fake relationship two months was one thing; years was another matter entirely. "Not really, dear. You see," Hermione addressed Roger, "Cormac pursued me relentlessly in school, but I was never interested."

Now Cormac looked put out. Let him be.

"What changed?" Roger asked.

Hermione mulled over that question for a moment, with Cormac giving her an intense look as both men awaited her response. "We weren't right together in school, but recently I realized Cormac is just what I need." _Or his records are._

The rest of the interview continued in much the same vein: double meanings, bad acting that would fool no one but Roger, and too much proximity to Cormac McLaggen.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione was already at the office when the _Prophet_ dropped onto her desk. She sighed. She and Cormac had made the front page with a ten-second loop of her kissing him on the cheek while he looked at her adoringly. The paper instructed her to turn to page four for more information on the "story."

She felt queasy, and it wasn't just because she had coffee on an empty stomach. Hermione dug into her bag and retrieved a croissant she had bought earlier that morning.

Nibbling on the comforting pastry, she turned to the dreaded page four. It was as she expected; it told a story of Cormac pursuing her and her relenting after years of denying him. _Merlin_ , Hermione thought, _I'm sending a wonderful message to stalkers everywhere._ She crumpled up her paper and threw it into the recycling bin.

Then, she withdrew some fresh parchment from one of her drawers to pen a note she had meant to send the previous night, but unsurprisingly had procrastinated.

 _Demetri,_

 _I regret our run-in last night. As I promised in my last note, I will explain everything to you tonight._

She hesitated at the sign-off. Hermione knew Demetri was incredibly angry with her and there was a good chance he wouldn't show up tonight. But why care? _Keep your enemies close and your enemies closer. Perhaps especially the ridiculously attractive ones._

Hermione groaned in frustration, but didn't analyze her motives further as she finished her note.

 _Yours,_

 _Hermione_

She sent out her owl with the message, but the slight feeling of discomfort at her sign off didn't leave her. And then a thought came to her—she had exhausted means of finding out information about Demetri _in England_. But supposedly the man with a near-perfect British accent wasn't native.

As she wrote a second note to her supervisor, she smiled to herself. Being an Unspeakable did have its advantages.

Nearly the moment she charmed the note to fly to her supervisor, another came in. Attached to a very familiar owl.

 _Hermione,_

 _Lunch. Our place at noon. No excuses from you._

 _-Ginny_

Ginny had clearly seen the paper and wasn't happy about it, either. Hermione didn't bother responding, knowing nothing she could say—even a true statement about her increasing pile of work—could keep the redhead at bay.

* * *

And so a few hours later she sat at the muggle café that had become her meeting spot with the redhead. Hermione was there first. Despite knowing that Ginny was nearly always five to ten minutes late, Hermione could not bring herself to follow suit.

Still, she was less irritated because she was a woman with a plan—a work trip to Durmstrang to speak with a runes expert. She had already been in contact with the man, and wouldn't have thought to go in person, but the enthusiastic expert didn't mind when she floo called him about it after receiving permission from her supervisor. She had plenty of budget left to travel that she rarely felt was practical to use.

Ginny came in and looked around for only a brief moment before setting her glare on Hermione and throwing herself dramatically into her chair. The _Prophet_ was pulled out of her bag next, although Hermione stopped that mid-action.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you," Hermione half-whispered, half-shouted. In an even quieter tone, she leaned forward and reminded Ginny they were in a muggle café.

Ginny looked properly chastised, but only momentarily. "Well, you know what I was going to show you. Are you sabotaging yourself?" Hermione groaned. "You and Demetri are finally dating, and now you're dating a man you've always hated?"

"Demetri and I are not _dating_ ," Hermione corrected. "And neither are Cormac and me. He has something on me—can we leave it at that?" Ginny opened her mouth but Hermione just kept talking. "Now if you think you're mad at me, how upset do you think Demetri was when he ran into us last night?"

"What does he have on you—Cormac, I mean?"

"It doesn't matter. My point is let's skip lunch and shop. I have a real date tonight." _And I'd like to distract him._

Ginny smiled knowingly. "Dressing up?"

"Something like that."

* * *

Just as she had predicted, Demetri never responded to her note. A pathetic power play.

Even more irritating was that they didn't set a time for dinner.

So when a knock sounded at nine o'clock, she resisted groaning out loud as she went to the door.

"It's a good thing that I happen to be excellent at Stasis Charms," Hermione greeted him drily.

Hermione held the door only partly open in defiance of his visit, but he forcefully swung the door open and walked past her. The storm clouds gathering outside seemed to follow him in.

"I never doubted your abilities for a moment, Hermione," was his response, entirely ignoring the irritation underlying her comment. "You made _your_ favorite?"

"Well, you seemed to like that well enough when you made it. And it's not as though there's a plethora of people who seem to know your taste."

Demetri smiled tightly. "Are _you_ criticizing _me_ for secrecy?" Hermione's breath caught as his hand briefly moved for his wand, but he resisted the temptation, instead lunging forward and grabbing her by the waist, pulling her close enough that his face was blurred. She could make out just enough to note the brows knitted together in anger, sitting above blank eyes. " _You_ are keeping _me_ a secret," he seethed. "I don't like that, dear."

"As I said, I'd like to explain," Hermione responded, trying not to get flustered. "Why don't you sit down and we can discuss this at the table?"

Demetri stayed silent, tightening his grip on her. Abruptly, he let go and sat down at the table. Uncharacteristically tense, his arms were crossed and she could see his fingernails digging into his left arm. "Won't you sit with me?" It wasn't a question.

Hermione sat across from him and managed a half-smile. "I don't understand why you're so upset. We haven't even said what this is." She gestured between the two of them.

"I was unaware we needed to do so," Demetri replied tersely. "Or was leaving your undergarments at my apartment just one stop in a tour?"

"Demetri—"

He leaned back in his chair, his fingernails pressing more firmly into his bicep. "I don't like to share. Besides, we have yet to define us, perhaps, but it seems your _boyfriend_ feels fairly secure in your relationship."

Hermione sighed, drumming her fingers on the table and tracing her teeth with her tongue. "We aren't really dating."

"Yes, you already said that," Demetri snapped.

Hermione shook her head. "No, not you and me, Cormac and me. We're just pretending; he's hoping it will help him get a promotion he's after." _I may have planted that idea_ , Hermione added to herself.

"How simultaneously magnanimous and manipulative of you. Why would you do this—shall we say morally gray?—favor?" Demetri's anger mixed with curiosity and seeming respect.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She was planning on telling him that Cormac had something on her, but chose instead to play into Demetri's positive reaction to her "morally gray" activities, as he called them. "Well, if I can help him get into a more powerful position and have him owe me a favor…" Hermione shrugged as casually as she could muster, as though she played politics all the time.

Following her line of thought, Demetri asked: "Do you do this often? Rack up favors?"

 _Absolutely not._ "It never hurts," Hermione replied cryptically.

"How long is this pretend relationship happening for? I am not a patient man."

"About a month."

"I don't like it."

"Well, I've already agreed," Hermione countered.

Demetri seemed to consider that for a moment before replying. "Fine. How is it going to end?"

"It will peter out, I suppose." Hermione frowned; they hadn't discussed that yet.

"With how thick you laid it on for the _Prophet_? Take it from a—" there was a noticeable pause and his mouth formed as though to form an "S"—"an interested party. You need to make sure you come out of this unscathed. Don't you already have a reputation for toying with men?"

"Oh, that fucking Rita Skeeter, like anyone believes that trash." A picture of Mrs. Weasley flashed in her mind, but Hermione brushed it away.

"Clearly this is a sensitive subject," Demetri noted, though there was no concern behind the observation.

"Yes," Hermione agreed.

"Still, I think you should settle it."

"That's wise, thank you," Hermione reluctantly responded.

Demetri nodded. "Keep me updated."

"Why do you care so much about my reputation?"

"Because your reputation is my reputation, or will be."

"Demetri… one moment you're completely off the map, and the next you're upset I'm pretending to date someone and telling me our futures are interdependent."

"Off the map? Have I ever not responded to you?"

"Well"—he did have her there—"you're hard to read, at the very least."

Demetri was quiet for a moment, looking at the wall behind her. "Then let me make this easier," he said quietly, still not making eye contact, "I would like to be closer to you."

It didn't sound very romantic, and Hermione almost said so before he turned to face her, his stare unrelenting. She felt as though he saw her very soul in that moment, and heard her voice say as though very far away, "I want that, too."


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione leaned against her bedroom door as she closed it, feeling like a teenager after her first kiss, heady and slightly drunk off the newfound emotions.

Her heels were still on, and as she kicked them off, she caught one of them on the carpet and slammed herself accidentally against the door, falling into a sad pile on top of her discarded shoes.

Rather than rise, Hermione removed the heel poking her and tossed it across the room in a mix of frustration and defeat.

 _I want that, too? What in Merlin's name are you playing at, Hermione?_ She had dismissed him quickly after that, rushing them both through pasta and half-heartedly excusing herself by stating she needed to be up early.

 _"I hope you are not regretting this, Hermione,"_ he had warned her quietly on his way out. It was difficult to say if she regretted it—if Demetri were half as dangerous as she feared, _someone_ had to be keeping an eye on him. She just wished it could be someone else, someone who hadn't already defeated a dark wizard.

And maybe someone who wasn't hopelessly taken in by him. Hermione accepted a while ago that she was attracted to the man, and that was easy enough to stomach. He was handsome, after all. But the pull between them had been so strong earlier tonight that she was forced to confess to herself it was more than just physical. She liked their verbal sparring matches, his frustrating way of twisting words so that he wasn't quite lying, and that goddamn crooked smile. And when she saw his control slip over their last couple encounters, she felt lost.

* * *

In the morning, she brushed away her pessimistic thoughts and focused on planning. She had been cleared to spend the week in Durmstrang, working with the runes expert and otherwise working remotely, and she left tomorrow.

She had already written her fake boyfriend yesterday to work in a date that night before she left. He had seemed a bit annoyed that she was leaving, but she felt he had no room to complain after the stellar interview she had given him. It was a good thing she was seeing him later, anyway, because she needed to address Demetri's (annoyingly legitimate) concerns about how the two of them would break things off.

The question remained if she should tell her real boyfriend—if that's what she was calling him now—about her leaving. He was going to be furious if she didn't, especially after their talk last night. But still she settled on keeping him in the dark. She needed to find out more about his time at Durmstrang, and if he had a warning she was going that mission might very well be compromised.

* * *

Before her "date" with Cormac, she had an even more unpleasant errand to run. The errand wasn't unpleasant because of the person; in fact, it involved one of her favorite people on this earth. It was so because she was going to lie to her best friend again. And that she hated.

As she knocked, she heard a crash as Harry apparently struggled to get the door. A few seconds after that, he opened the door, his cheek somehow covered in ink.

"Harry, you've got a little"—she gestured to her cheek, and Harry smudged the ink around a bit, asking her if he got it. "Not quite, but close enough," Hermione responded with a shrug before hugging her friend and likely inking herself.

"Sorry the place is such a mess," Harry apologized sheepishly as his eyes raked over his apartment. "I was grading papers all night."

"All night?" It was noon, But Harry's curtains were drawn as usual and he might have been ignorant of the time.

"They don't grade themselves," Harry dodged the question.

"Of course not," Hermione tried to say in a cheery voice, feeling instead a tightness in her chest at the accidental admission that Harry didn't sleep.

"So, twice in one week? I'm afraid I can't chat long, I'm—" but Harry didn't get to finish because there was another crash that came from the direction of Harry's bedroom. In response, Harry turned beet red.

Hermione, a bit shocked, took in Harry's disheveled appearance and realized she had just assumed that he had stayed up all night and looked like a wreck because he was still struggling, but he obviously had someone at the apartment who had kept him up all night. As she processed this welcome news, she burst out laughing.

"Godric, Harry, I came to apologize for keeping my love life such a secret, but I'm in good company apparently."

"Well, I would have told you Hermione, but really it's just sex." He had just begun to finish pronouncing the word "sex" when the door slowly creaked open.

"If you think I am going to stay in here all day while you and Miss Granger talk," a very familiar voice drawled, "you are seriously mistaken."

Hermione's laugh turned into a cough as she took in the figure of her old Potions professor. "Would you care to share what you find so _amusing_ , Miss Granger?" Hermione composed herself then, feeling like she was in class again.

"But, weren't you in love with Lily?" Hermione couldn't help but blurt out.

Snape scoffed. "I do not have the time or patience to explain the complexities of human sexuality to you, Miss Granger."

Snape's indifferent mask slipped for a moment as he seemed unsure of what to do next. With a sigh, he pecked Harry on the cheek and left the apartment without another word.

Harry and Hermione stared at one another, Harry shuffling nervously before taking a seat at his kitchen table, still facing Hermione who was leaning against the couch dumbfounded.

"Harry, I've been so worried about you since you took this position. You've seemed a lot more at peace than you did at the Auror's office, and I was happy for that, but you've been so tired and withdrawn and distant. I thought you were becoming a hermit, but have you been—has this been happening the whole time?"

"I didn't know how to tell you, Hermione," Harry half-responded.

"Over four years?!"

"No, at first I really did hide away here at the castle. It was comforting. But it has been a while. One and a half years," Harry mumbled, staring intently at his table.

"A _year_ and a half? Harry, why did you feel like you needed to hide this from me?"

"Well, I know Severus has never been your favorite person."

And something about the tender way Harry's voice wrapped around her old Potions professor's first name snapped Hermione out of her anger. "Harry, I'm not mad. I wish you would have told me, yes, but I understand why you didn't. I just hope you know how relieved I am that you've found someone and that's why you've been preoccupied. And as for my feelings on"—she forced herself to use Snape's first name as well—"Severus. You seem like you care about each other a lot."

"We do," Harry said in a quiet voice. "Thanks, Hermione."

And she stopped perching on the couch then to bend down and wrap Harry in a tight hug. "After the war, we all deserve any happiness we can find, don't we?" Hermione mused, as much to herself as to Harry, though she felt him tighten the hug.

* * *

A/N: This story is largely canon-compliant, but Severus Snape is alive. Because I can.

I also wanted to say thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story after my unexpected hiatus. I appreciate all of you and you all keep me writing. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione straightened her skirt, more for something to busy her hands with than out of any concern for her appearance. She was five minutes late for meeting Cormac for dinner, but annoyingly he was even later. _Typical_ , she fumed silently.

Seven minutes later—she couldn't help but check the clock—a server was showing her alone to her table, still without a fake boyfriend in tow.

Hermione couldn't help but stop in the middle of her path when she spotted her very real boyfriend with Pansy Parkinson in a corner booth—the most secluded booth in the restaurant.

"Demetri," she greeted him through gritted teeth. "Parkinson." Hermione didn't bother hiding her agitation as she pronounced the Slytherin's name.

"Granger," Pansy smirked. "You two know each other?" The question was addressed to her presumed date.

"Yes, we met at Draco's wedding," Demetri explained in a bored tone. Hermione was about ready to hex the smug expression off his face. At least she had the decency to introduce him as a friend, but an acquaintance from three years ago? _Unbelievable._

Pansy merely nodded knowingly, as though this was one of the few acceptable ways to know a mudblood.

"Nice to see you," Hermione managed evenly before she gestured to the server to show her to her table.

But of course, because it was one of those nights the universe seemed to be laughing at her, she was just a few tables away with Demetri easily in her eyeline. Cormac showed up soon afterward, and she threw down her napkin as she stood to greet him. Hermione could see Demetri watching her out of the corner of his eye. Perfect.

"Cormac, I've missed you!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing both sides of a very surprised Cormac's face and capturing his mouth in hers, using her tongue to wrest it open as they unabashedly made out in the middle of the restaurant, him pulling her body flush against his.

She pulled away as quickly as she overcame him, picking up her napkin and deftly sliding into her seat. Hermione chanced a look at her intended audience and he was glaring daggers at her. Hermione smiled and pointedly turned to Cormac. He looked affected and Hermione's smile widened as she realized how easy it would be to kill two birds with one stone, much as she hated the phrase.

Hermione excused herself to use the lady's room. She didn't actually need to use the restroom, but wanted to prepare for her upcoming performance. It was quick: she used a charm she learned from Lavender of all people to make her cheeks and lips a bit redder, and then hexed off the third button of her shirt so that it was now difficult to keep her bra entirely concealed.

When she returned to the table, she slid into her chair dejectedly. "I'm so embarrassed," Hermione confessed in hushed tones. Cormac's expression was incredibly reminiscent of how he looked on their Slug Club date, and Hermione took that to mean she was winning. "It's just I lost a button in the restroom—do you think anyone will notice?"

"It's fine," Cormac flashed a smile that reminded her of a shark. "Everyone will think it's for my benefit."

Hermione pretended to fumble with her shirt, and then gave up. "You're probably right." She reached over and lightly traced the inside of his arm. "Do you think we're putting on a good show?" Hermione whispered.

Cormac hesitatingly reached his hand up and traced the side of her face. Hermione didn't risk looking over at Demetri right then, but she could almost _feel_ his fury. "Absolutely," he murmured.

"Good." Hermione lifted the hand she was toying with, leaned in, and kissed his knuckles, slightly open-mouthed to remind him of the more lingering kiss they had just shared. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Mmhm."

"After your promotion, after we've waited a minute, we haven't said how we'll break up." Her sentence was punctuated as she peppered kisses on the inside of his wrist.

"Mmhm," Cormac repeated, half-listening.

"You know I have a work trip this week. And when you were upset I was leaving, I was thinking—" She lifted her hand to brush the inside of his lip and he nearly jumped. Hermione would feel a bit bad for him if it weren't Cormac. "What if you really _were_ upset? I could take another work trip and it could trigger our breakup. You think I'm too focused on work. Anyone would believe that."

"That's true," Cormac responded distractedly.

Hermione pulled back, sitting up straight in her chair, hands to herself. "Excellent. Then it's settled?"

"Sure."

Hermione's eyes moved to her right to catch Demetri's. His nails were digging into the underside of his booth. His expression would have looked controlled to anyone else, but she recognized it—slightly unhinged, certainly dangerous. Someone she should stay away from, but baiting him was decidedly more fun.

* * *

When Hermione returned home, triumphant and a bit smug, she knew that there was a solid chance Demetri might drop in. Because it was important to keep her "business" travels a secret for as long as possible, she shoved her packed suitcases in the closet and covered up all traces that she had been packing.

Hermione was settling in with a cup of tea when someone began knocking on her door, not letting up until she answered, revealing—for the second time that weekend—a furious Demetri.

"What in Salazar's name, Granger?" She didn't miss the use of Slytherin's given name as Demetri's curse of choice.

"Pansy?" Hermione questioned in response.

"Draco set us up and I had no reason to refuse." Demetri responded in a relatively controlled tone.

Hermione's eyebrow shot up.

"No reason I could give, at least. Draco has remarked on your choice of companion, you know. Apparently you had quite the distaste for him in school; all the more surprising you should develop such a _taste_ for him now.

"If you know so much about me—and I know you do"—Demetri pushed in and slammed the door behind him, hovering over her—"you might have heard that Pansy and I were not exactly on wonderful terms."

"I had heard. And yet I merely indulged a friend in taking another friend on a date, something I thought you would understand, given that you are publicly involved with another. Imagine my surprise when the pretend relationship I so reluctantly agreed to turned so very _physical_."

Hermione's heart caught for a moment before she was distracted by an owl that flew in her open window. She didn't recognize the owl, but she automatically took the letter and unfolded it.

"What is it?" Demetri snapped.

 _Dear Ms. Granger,_

 _I regret to inform you that Cormac McLaggen has passed away. The Auror's Office is handling the case from here. I thought you should know._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Susan Larsen_

 _Healer, St. Mungo's Hospital_

The words spun as she read them for the second and third time, but the meaning didn't change. Feeling dizziness hit her, she sat down where she was standing.

She felt Demetri's arms wrap around her from behind her as she clutched the note.

"Hermione, what a terrible tragedy. I cannot say that I liked him, but a tragedy nonetheless."

Hermione didn't respond to Demetri's robotic regrets. It was lined up for her, not even a puzzle, because the pieces were assembled: unhappy with Cormac and Hermione's display, Demetri had killed him. And she thought about that near-certain fact as he stroked her hair, something not tangling his long fingers in her curly locks. Her mind continued to mull over the likelihood—higher than half, she decided—that he had killed Cormac as he gently traced over her fingers to hold her hand. Hermione didn't miss his hand ghosting over her ring finger for a jot too long. And as he kissed the crown of her head, whispering comforting words in her ear that was somehow wet from her tears, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her that he may have killed Cormac, that he might be the reason for her despair. But a bigger voice—one that spoke out loud—said "yes" nearly inaudibly when he asked her if she wanted him to stay.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you to all of you who read, review, and stay with this twisted tale. :)

* * *

"Hold on," Hermione murmured to herself more than to Demetri as she reached into her purse. The contrast between the quiet, dark street and the bright lights of the Ministry was aggressive, so she dug for her eye drops to counter the sudden wateriness. She tried to ignore the fact that the moisture was probably largely attributable to Cormac's death but was unsuccessful.

Her hand was shaking, so she ended up with four or five spilled drops that missed her eyes and wandered down her cheeks instead. Demetri spoke quietly, "come here," as he pulled her close and wiped away her fake tears.

Hermione tried to smile but ended up twitching slightly instead. "We should go," she stated begrudgingly.

Careful not to hold hands, the two of them walked toward the Auror's office. They had been asked to come in soon after the letter from St. Mungo's. Hermione couldn't say quite how long—time didn't seem to be operating properly that evening.

Demetri had suggested they go in the morning, as the letter wasn't urgent, but Hermione wanted to get it over with. She idly wondered as they walked down the hall why he had come at all; probably because she was a bit of a mess. She had nearly fallen on her face walking to the door of her apartment, after all.

She was still internally wrestling over whether to tell the aurors about her secret relationship with Demetri. It was quite incredible how quickly a simple lie—pretending to date Cormac for a few weeks—spun out of hand. Far worse than her current predicament was the likely consequence that Demetri had killed over her lie. _And your blatant method of throwing it in his face_ , she reminded herself as fresh, real tears fell down her face.

 _Why had she done that?_ When Demetri first seen her with Cormac outside the pub, she recognized how dangerous he was; she could feel the fear pooling in the pit of her stomach, affecting her whole body with unpleasant chills. And yet she had somehow discarded this knowledge, fooled by Demetri's casual mask. But she hadn't really been fooled, had she? She had just seen Demetri with Pansy and was jealous. Plain and simple. And that desire to make Demetri feel what she felt had been so intense it had overtaken anything—and anyone—else.

But wasn't Demetri blotting out everything else in her life a pattern? She had failed to see Harry was no longer alone, and he had only been dating Snape— _Severus_ , she mentally corrected herself, determined to make Harry feel at ease about his latest revelation when she next saw him—for a hair longer than she had known Demetri. That isn't the sort of thing she would normally fail to notice; Harry wasn't particularly good at sneaking around, and Hermione seriously doubted he had dramatically improved.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Demetri's hand brushing her shoulder in what was likely supposed to be a comforting gesture, but his long fingers squeezed where she had fallen earlier and hit a wall, so that she couldn't help but softly say "ow."

"Ah, apologies. That's where you fell." It was a statement, not a question.

Hermione only nodded.

"We're here."

"Okay," Hermione responded. "Did you want to come in with me? I don't know that you need to—"

"I will," Demetri said simply.

"Okay," Hermione repeated before knocking three times on the Department's door.

* * *

One of the more junior aurors Hermione didn't recognize had answered. He looked surprised and mumbled something to himself before leading her to the back offices. He knocked on one of the dark wood doors and nodded to whoever was on the other side before waving her in.

"Mione," Ron greeted her before she even finished stepping through the door. He had ink marks on his face, likely from falling asleep on parchment. She sat across from him on the table and Demetri quickly followed in the seat next to her.

"This is Demetri. I believe you two met at the wedding," Hermione introduced him awkwardly.

"Yes, I think I remember," Ron offered, shaking Demetri's hand. Demetri's face was unreadable.

"What are you doing here this late, Ron?" Hermione asked, deciding not to bring up the stains on his face.

"Well, everyone said you would come in the morning, but I knew you would be here right away. And I didn't want you to hear about Cormac's death from a stranger."

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes again. It had been a long time since she had seen this side of Ron, but it was just like him to do something unexpectedly thoughtful and act as though it were just what anyone would do. "Thanks, Ron. I really mean it. Thanks," was all she could manage to express her gratitude.

"Sure, Mione," Ron deflected, blushing slightly.

Hermione felt the urge to reach over and touch Demetri as if to say "please don't murder this one" but felt she couldn't do that in front of Ron, who thought her boyfriend just died.

"I don't mean to be rude, but—Demetri, right?—what are you doing here?"

Demetri kept his face passive. "I'm not offended. I'm doing interviews about the war. Tonight was one of the times Hermione could find in her busy schedule to chat with me, and then when she heard the news, I was a bit worried to leave her alone."

Hermione nodded tightly, and Ron seemed to accept the fabrication. "Can you please tell me what happened to Cormac now?"

"He Avada'd himself," Ron said in a flat voice, refusing to make eye contact.

 _"He what?!"_ Hermione exclaimed. Avada-ing oneself was practically unheard of because of the strong level of intent it required. "But wouldn't his wand—I mean with more extreme spells, sometimes a wizard's wand won't act against him."

"But it didn't act against him," Ron explained quietly, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry, Mione. Did you have any idea that he might—"

"He didn't do this," Hermione interrupted, arms crossed. She would be damned if she would concede to this just to cover her own web of lies. What if this were the way to get Demetri behind bars?

"Hermione," Ron spoke in a slightly patronizing voice, "the spell came from his wand, and—" Ron hesitated, pleading with his eyes to be given permission not to continue. Hermione merely nodded, spurring him on. "There were witnesses. Several, in fact."

A sob escaped from Hermione's throat at the thought of that scene. "But still, someone could have Imperius'd him to do that."

"What makes you think that?"

"I know he wouldn't do this," Hermione responded firmly.

"Mione… You aren't the first person to say this. We can't investigate every suicide for the Imperius Curse."

"What about just this one?" Hermione pleaded. Demetri still remained silent.

Ron squirmed and Hermione could see he was close to caving. "Please? For me?"

"We'll look into it," Ron relented. "Which means we should have a proper interview, but I recommend you sleep first."

Hermione easily agreed, finding solace in the knowledge that the case remained open.

* * *

Once back at the apartment, Hermione wanted to rail at Demetri; scream, yell, kick, curse, punch, maim—everything—but if she were right about him, then it was even more vital for her to stay close to him. That's why she looked at him, not bothering to hide how broken she felt, and whispered, "I need some alone time, Demetri. To process." His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, even as his hand continued the motion of tracing her face. She would almost describe the way he touched her as gentle, but it felt more like a calculated reduction of pressure of someone holding back.

"Demetri," she continued, not sure why she was about to make the strange request she did, except that it might feel better to know him, just a little, and if he wouldn't answer any questions she asked directly, then maybe this was all she would get for now. "Could I see your eyes?"

"I don't understand," he responded, his voice not without hostility. He understood.

Now Hermione raised her hands and touched his face, but she didn't hold back. She pulled his face down to hers and he complied more easily than she had expected. They were nose to nose. It was the closest they had ever been without kissing, and it felt strangely intimate. For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought about digging her nails into his face, but that passed.

Hermione looked directly into his eyes and thought about how she felt about him behind the anger and betrayal, the something-more-than-attraction feeling she had been avoiding herself. "Yes, you do. You said you want to be close to me. I meant it when I said I want that, too,"—and she felt her eyes burn at that painfully honest statement—"but that means I have to know you."

He didn't respond, but suddenly the flat green eyes she had been accustomed to were gone. Hermione wasn't sure what she had expected, probably a dark brown. Instead she was met with startling light gray eyes that resembled sunlight creeping through fog on an overcast day. She dully registered the fact that he had changed them without words and without his wand. It felt expected.

"Thank you," she murmured. Demetri didn't move. Somehow seeing his eyes did make her feel better about her decision to stay with him; still she could feel the eerie moment of calm fading and the desire to hurt him returning. "I really do need to be alone now, though." And she knew they both probably heard her voice shake, but he didn't argue, instead leaving without a word.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: To all my readers—apologies for the incredibly long, unexpected hiatus. To make a long story short, I've been suffering from health problems that have made it difficult to write, but I'm continuing to get better and write more.

I also wanted to give a shoutout to Luchik for translating the fic into Russian, which is available here: /readfic/7321660. :) I'm still incredibly flattered that someone would want to translate my work.

Thanks to all of you who continue to read and follow this fic. Your support means a lot to me.

* * *

The next morning did not feel separate from the previous day, likely because Hermione had not slept for more than a half hour at a time. Every time she closed her eyes, Cormac's face burned behind her eyelids, creeping into her dreams. Her memories twisted with her guilt in her subconscious, creating images of her kissing Cormac even more lewdly than she had, floating in space as bright green as Demetri's eyes, as his newfound gray ones cut into her over and over again.

Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror, blinking rapidly to stay awake. Her skin was pink in some places, red in others. She sighed, looking at the ancient wash cloth in her hand and realizing she had just been scrubbing her face for much too long while replaying her nightmares. She grabbed her hair near her skull and pulled slightly to ease her frustration, letting out a strangled scream.

Reflexively Hermione glanced down at her mother's battered leather watch that she had taken from the dresser the night she took their memories. It read seven thirty-two. She had failed to set a time for the morning interview, but it seemed reasonable to show up at eight. She frowned, thinking of Ron. Perhaps nine would be better.

It was probably for the best as Hermione got dressed and brushed her hair at the pace of a streeler as her mind replayed the events of the previous weeks repeatedly. It was her fault. She had dragged Cormac into whatever this was with Demetri. Hermione swallowed nervously as Harry's words played in her mind unprompted. _I suppose he's compiling a sort of history of the war for the ministry, so he wanted to know the details about the Horcrux hunt, etcetera_.

Hermione stood glued to the spot, fixated on those words, until a knock sounded at the door some minutes later. She snapped out of her state, relaxing her fingers so that the nail of her right ring finger was no longer digging into her thumb, although there was nothing to be done about the half-moon shaped mark it left, so familiar to Hermione that she hardly noticed it anymore.

"Coming!" She shouted half a beat too late. Hermione let out the breath she had been holding slowly as she straightened her hair on the way to the door.

She hadn't been prepared for this. Stupidly, in her sleep-deprived distracted mind, she had assumed Ron had decided to come see her for the morning interview. But that made very little sense, Hermione reasoned as she was confronted with her mistake. The two of them had hardly spoken since they split up, and even if he had decided that now was no time to be distant, he likely had no clue where she lived.

As Hermione's thoughts ramped up to a more frantic tone shouting at her to change her facial expression to something, the panic only clouded her brain and cemented her present facial expression—eyes narrowed slightly and quickly filling with the tears she had tried to suppress while her mouth hung slightly open.

But why was he here? He knew she the interview this morning and he couldn't expect to be able to attend when Ron was already suspicious of his presence the previous evening. These thoughts came out in a panicked, "But you can't come to the interview with me!"

Demetri recoiled slightly at her outburst before returning to an impassive expression, asking in a low but controlled voice if he could come in.

Instead of answering, Hermione opened the door more, brushing tears away as he walked through. Demetri surprised her by gently moving her hand from the doorknob, taking the knob instead and shutting the door firmly while Hermione used both hands to rapidly push the tears away as they continued to gather in her eyes.

Hermione was thrown off again when Demetri wrapped his arms around her, pressing her wet face firmly into his chest. Her breath caught and she tensed up automatically, her arms hanging limply at her side rather than responding in kind. Before she could process whether this was the best idea under the circumstances, Demetri released her as suddenly as he had embraced her.

"I know I cannot attend the interview with you," he continued in his low, even voice. "I thought I would come and see how you were managing."

Hermione bit her lip, looking down at her feet. "I've just been getting ready. I was about to leave when you came in, actually."

She could see Demetri's slow nod out of the corner of her eye. "Can I get your coat?" He asked quietly, his finger grazing against her bare arm as he asked. Unable to help herself, Hermione looked up at Demetri and met his eyes. Unlike the cryptic expression he normally wore, Demetri was a storm of emotions, wounded and angry in equal measure. His jaw was tensed and square as she had seen it before when he was upset, but Hermione realized the change: the eyes.

Now that they were no longer the flat green she had grown accustomed to, Hermione could detect his hurt in them. The traces of the shades of silver and stone were still enigmatic, but the _something_ in them today was a remarkable change.

After a tragic evening followed by a sleepless night, Hermione had alternated between the verge of tears and tears. In that emotionally charged state, she couldn't help how incredibly touched she felt that he had shown up on her doorstep this morning as himself, or much more of himself than she had previously seen. And she hated herself for it. Hermione knew she had to stay close to him to figure out what his plan was, but she hated how much she wanted to be close to him for entirely unrelated reasons.

"Hermione?" He asked after a pregnant pause. His finger hadn't left her arm, and he was leaning in closer, close enough for her to smell cinnamon and cardamom.

Hermione forced herself to lean away from him, though she did so sluggishly. "My coat is hanging on the hook inside my closet."

She took deep breaths while he went into her bedroom. She could hear him shuffling around longer than she expected, though he eventually returned with her plain black peacoat.

"It wasn't on the hook," Demetri stated coldly as he held the coat open toward her. Hermione thought it was best not to argue with the chivalry as he helped her into the coat she put on herself every morning.

"Where was it?" She asked as she started to rifle through her purse to ensure she had everything.

"In one of your packed suitcases."

Hermione's mouth formed an "o." She had entirely forgotten about the Durmstrang trip she was supposed to leave for that night. "It's a work trip," she explained weakly.

"Were you planning on telling me?" Demetri asked in a clipped tone.

"Not really," she responded, anger rising in her. "I don't see why I would."

"I thought we understood each other. I told you I wanted—"

"To be closer," she finished for him, stepping toward him in defiance and looking him straight in the eye. "That does not mean I have to update you on my whereabouts."

Demetri's hand darted out toward her, but apparently he thought better of it and gestured toward her in frustration instead. "How long were you going for?"

"A week."

Demetri looked sullenly toward the floor, acting all of sixteen instead of his usual patronizing self. "You were planning to be away for a week and were not planning on telling me?"

"I don't have time for this. I have an interview to attend," Hermione tried to brush him off and leave but he moved faster than her, his larger frame blocking the door. "This is childish, Demetri."

" _I'm_ childish?" He collected himself and continued. "I came here this morning to support you, Hermione, because I want to be the person you can depend on above anyone else. Yet all you seem to want to do is push me away, first with Cormac and now with this weeklong trip. I open myself up to you"—the evidence of that openness seared into her—"and you reject me. What do you _want_ , Hermione?"

 _Your secrets. Your plans. Your deepest self._

"You."

"Then show me that," Demetri responded through gritted teeth.

Hermione looked at him uncertainly, unsure of how to respond. She nodded and simply said, "Okay. I hear you."

Demetri opened his mouth but Hermione cut him off before he could speak. "But I have to go take care of this right now."

"You can't tell them about us," Demetri said matter-of-factly.

Hermione sighed. What was she going to do? Last night she wanted justice, but telling Ron the truth would only make him another person she pulled into whatever was happening with Demetri. Already she had endangered Harry, maybe Ginny, and Cormac…

Feeling decided for the first time on her course of action, and slightly relieved for it, she reached up and grazed Demetri's cheek with a kiss, catching him by surprise. It didn't matter that she had conflicting feelings when it came to Demetri—that in some sick way, she wanted him just as much as she was pretending to. It was still the right course of action to move closer to him, even if it meant lying to everyone. In fact, lying was best for their protection. "I'll tell Ron the truth." Demetri's eyes flashed darker gray. "I'll tell him that I was emotional last night and that I don't think he should open the investigation."

As she moved toward the door, Demetri didn't protest, but he didn't follow her either. "I'm leaving now," she repeated.

"I think it's best if no one sees us together right now," Demetri replied smoothly, firmly rooted in her apartment. Hermione knew he was daring her to argue and admit she didn't trust him in the apartment. This was his revenge for her attempt to sneak in to his space.

 _Let him stay._ She had the copy of his record in her purse. "Good idea," Hermione replied hollowly, taking the opportunity to leave the apartment. As she walked toward past her apparition wards, she internally reassured herself that she was doing the right thing, Cormac's face still burned in her mind as a stark reminder of the dangers of making another mistake.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't a difficult conversation with Ron. The moment she hedged—stating that perhaps he was right about Cormac's suicide and that she was in shock the night before—Ron's face visibly relaxed. He immediately agreed and began reassuring her that she was doing the right thing by telling her about things that she couldn't care less about at the moment, such as the fact that the lack of an investigation will make the papers forget about it sooner. She numbly nodded while Ron spoke, attempting to crack a smile, but her less-than-thrilled mood went unnoticed, likely attributed to thoughts of her late "boyfriend." Although she should be pleased that Ron wasn't suspicious, part of her wanted him to challenge her on this. Hermione felt she was doing the right thing in this situation, but the right thing was making her feel incredibly alone.

After meeting Ron, she decided to work even though it was a Sunday, since she was already at the Ministry and could use the distraction. Hermione admitted to herself that she might be avoiding Demetri as well. Unfortunately, everything on her to-do list sounded too dull to distract her, and she ended up reorganizing her entire desk instead, going as far as sorting through notes she had taken and placing them in different folders by topic. The hours slipped by as she looked up at the clock and realized she had to rush home in order to make it to Durmstrang on time. Hermione frowned down at the piles of notes still unorganized and begrudgingly put them in an empty filing cabinet.

It had been explained to Hermione the week prior that she would have to floo to the Headmistress's office, as that was the only location in Durmstrang set up for international floo calls. When Alex—the runes expert she had been working with—relayed this to Hermione, he had also somewhat apologetically asked Hermione to sign a nondisclosure agreement. The contract was more than that, though. It had also included provisions requiring Hermione to agree not to attempt to ascertain the location of Durmstrang, which included limiting conversation with students. She had to run the contract by her supervisor, who had nearly the same reaction as she did, rolling her eyes but ultimately determining that signing the contract was the best course of action, as Durmstrang was notoriously difficult to negotiate with.

The moment Hermione arrived home, she did a quick sweep of the apartment to ensure she was alone. After a few moments, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, satisfied that Demetri had in fact left at some point during the day. Hermione was walking to her kitchen to collect floo powder from a cabinet when a bird began pecking at her window. Upon closer inspection, Hermione's stomach flipped as she recognized the owl, its large yellow eyes and single streak of white providing a stark contrast against its mostly black collection of feathers.

"Hello," Hermione murmured as she opened the window and took the parcel and note from the bird. The owl stared at her unblinkingly as she read:

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _It has come to my attention that you require a used men's pullover. I have taken it upon myself to locate one._

 _Forever yours,_

 _Demetri_

Hermione's mind raced. _What the—_ she smacked her forehead lightly with her palm and ran back to her bedroom. _"Accio Ron's sweater!"_ Nothing. Hermione sighed and began searching manually, unzipping her large suitcase and rifling through it. _The fucking nerve._ While her ancient pair of pink flannel pajama pants were intact, her favorite sweater to sleep in was nowhere to be found. She hadn't kept much when things ended between she and Ron, but his beat up Chudley Cannons sweatshirt was the most comfortable sweater she owned. And it was decidedly no longer in her possession, as she knew she had made a point of packing it.

Hermione stormed into the next room to find the owl gone through her open window. It hadn't even waited to attempt to get a treat. _The bird's as strange as its owner_ , Hermione thought as she ripped open the parcel, taking some of her frustration with the sender out on the plain black paper. The first thing she noticed as she touched the material was that it was very soft, perhaps even more so than her previous sweater. She opened up the sweater and her eyes widened. Written, in big, cracked light gray letters against a dark gray background were the words "DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE." In an almost-black color, an outline of a dragon flew around in the space underneath the words.

 _Durmstrang?_ Hermione frowned. Although she couldn't recall specific instances, she knew Demetri had made her suspect through various slips that he was a Hogwarts student in Slytherin. The sweater was clearly worn, and Hermione absentmindedly brought the sweater up to her face as she inhaled its scent. It smelled like bitter herbs with a slight hint of cinnamon clinging to the fibers—definitely Demetri's, down to his old cologne. But that didn't mean it had always belonged to Demetri. But would he really have bought a Durmstrang sweater years ago and worn it in preparation for this moment? Perhaps he had gone to the trouble to procure the sweater pre-worn and make it smell like him with a spell or potion. And he would have had to obtain his old cologne, or maybe he still had some left over and had just decided it wasn't his preference anymore. Part of Hermione worried that Demetri had found out about her plans to go to Durmstrang; it seemed like a very timely gift. _But the only way he could have known_ , Hermione reassured herself, _was if he had access to Department of Mysteries files._ Hermione bit her lip, trying to let that reassure her but there was a nagging part of her that worried that he did, in fact, have access to her department's files. _Either way_ , Hermione thought, _I am going to find out everything I can this week. Even if he had a head start to prepare, he can't have altered the memories of everyone at Durmstrang Institute._

Hermione hurriedly ran to the other room and repacked her suitcase (along with the sweatshirt). She had told Alex she would leave at four o'clock in the afternoon by her local time. When she arrived, she would be escorted immediately to her room so that she would not know how late it is. Apparently knowing what time zone the school was in would be too much information for an outsider to have.

Hermione turned to her luggage and put it in her beaded bag, slightly beat up after all these years but not enough for Hermione to replace it. She slung it over her shoulder, where it was slightly out of place against her plain black robes, before she finally threw the floo powder into the fire. Hermione walked into the flames and spoke, "Durmstrang Institute, Headmistress's Office," before she began to spin at an increasing pace, her room disappearing before her.


End file.
